


Sea Winds and Travelers

by u_andcloud



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Confessions, M/M, some angst but a happy ending, some descriptions of wounds/injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:15:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26074030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/u_andcloud/pseuds/u_andcloud
Summary: Welcomed into the One Kingdom's Brotherhood of Knights, Leon remained at Valbar's side until an injury ended his fighting career.And Valbar remained by his side, after.
Relationships: Leo | Leon/Valbo | Valbar
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	Sea Winds and Travelers

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for...a long time, on and off for years and with a little more intention recently. Leon is one of my absolute favorite characters in anything ever so I wanted to expand on his Echoes ending and just give him the happiness he deserves.

Leon couldn’t remember the injury, but it must have been bad if it had been enough to get him set up in a room in the castle.

A grave wound was the only explanation for the state in which he found himself, propped up on plump pillows on a feather-stuffed mattress, in a small but sunny room with stone walls half-covered in tapestries. There was an ache in his ribcage, accompanied by the strange stiffness that usually followed a magical recovery—if he pulled back the blankets and lifted the hem of his thin cotton shirt, he was sure he would find a nasty scar.

The final feature of his surroundings was a wooden chair beside the bed, in which was slumped a disheveled and loudly snoring Valbar.

After years of traveling together, Leon was used to the snoring—he guessed it was the rising sun that had woken him, not the noise. Leon smiled slightly at his friend. He had no idea how long he had spent in this bed, but Valbar looked like he had been here just as long, if the stubble on his usually clean-shaven chin was anything to go by. He looked exhausted, too, and Leon was glad he had managed to catch some rest even in a chair as uncomfortable as this one looked.

Leon elected not to wake him, instead slipping from the sheets and crossing the room on quiet steps to an adjoining chamber, where— _thank Mila_ —a quantity of water was being warmed by a smoldering fire. Royal luxury—Leon sighed in relief. He felt disgusting.

His wound protested slightly with the effort of filling the bathtub, but it didn’t quite hurt. Even so, it felt… _different_ than injuries he remembered from the past. He tried to quell a prickle of unease in his stomach and sank into the steaming bathwater.

 _Much better._ The warmth eased the ache in his side, and the grime on his skin was no match for the castle’s selection of fine soaps. He leaned back his head, closed his eyes, and let the soap’s gentle fragrance relax him as the water went lukewarm around him.

He was jolted from his comfortable stupor by a loud, urgent cry from the next room.

“Leon?! Where—”

“In here, Valbar,” Leon called, before his friend could work himself into a panic. Valbar’s head appeared in the doorway, and a flush tinted his cheeks, although Leon couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment from his outburst, or from finding him in the bath. He assumed the former—they had spent too long traveling with each other to be self-conscious of something as trivial as nudity.

Leon waved a hand languidly. “I’m almost done, if you want to wait.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be out here,” Valbar agreed, and withdrew.

There was a silk robe hanging on the wall— _thank you, Celica—_ so Leon pulled it on and toweled his hair as dry as he could before returning to the main room. Valbar was seated on the wooden chair again, elbows on his knees, staring at his clasped hands.

“How long have you been sitting there?” Leon asked, and Valbar jumped.

“Er. A couple days. Not constantly, but…”

“It must have been pretty bad, then,” Leon remarked lightly, crossing the room to settle on the edge of the bed. He started tugging a comb through his hair and looked at Valbar out of the corner of his eye.

Valbar’s jaw tensed.

“Just tell me, Valbar.” Leon kept his voice even, but he couldn’t help but touch his side, where he could almost feel the outline of what had turned out to be a twisted, ugly scar. He felt that creeping unease again, winding around his gut.

Valbar didn’t look at him. “They said…they said you won’t be fit for the army anymore,” he almost whispered.

The words plummeted into Leon’s stomach like as many stones. His brow creased.

“But I feel—”

Valbar was shaking his head. “It almost killed you. A real nasty arrow, and poisoned, too. Wouldn’t come out clean. The healing magic could only do so much.”

“…I see.”

Leon had never entertained any daydreams of winning glory in battle. Joining the army years ago had been a necessity, and even then, he only found purpose in it if he could fight for _people,_ not for vague causes. But despite his general distaste for the dirty, bloody business of war, he was proud of his skill with a bow. Never one for false modesty, he would readily say the bow knights would suffer without him.

But Valentia was largely at peace—Valbar’s cause was avenged, and Celica no longer required his aid. In many ways, an injury like this was the excuse he hadn't entirely realized he had been waiting for.

He still felt a pang when Valbar delivered the news—he had been an archer for most of his life, after all, and he had always assumed he would die as one. But as painful as the realization was for him, Valbar looked even unhappier.

Leon sighed. “Don’t look so despondent,” he urged. “My discharge just means I can contribute to the restoration of Valentia in other ways. The other week, I saw a storefront in town that would be _perfect_ for a textile merchant. Maybe it was a sign.”

Valbar didn’t answer, and Leon’s smile faded.

“Why the long face, old friend?”

The knight let out a heavy sigh. “I guess…I guess I just got used to having you by my side. Took it for granted.”

Leon raised an eyebrow. “Nonsense. I always made sure I was properly appreciated.”

Valbar huffed out a laugh, but his brows remained knitted together.

“Valbar,” Leon said, “certainly you’re not worried about going into battle without me. I may be good, but we both know you don’t need me watching your back. Especially not against a band of brigands, which is all we ever face these days, anyway. They can hardly even _touch_ you.”

Valbar nodded in reluctant agreement, but he didn’t look cheered. Leon narrowed his eyes.

“There’s something else bothering you,” he observed. Valbar was never hard to read, especially not for Leon.

The chair creaked as Valbar shifted.

“Er, well…it’s about your…feelings.”

“My…feelings.” Leon stared at him blankly, but Valbar didn’t meet his eyes.

“Uh, yeah. Remember a while back, you said…you said you wanted to keep your feelings. For me.” Valbar’s gaze was fixed in his lap, where he twisted and untwisted his fingers restlessly.

“I recall something like that, yes,” Leon replied. His voice sounded distant to him, almost inaudible under the sudden rush of blood in his ears.

“Well…did you?”

“I…yes, of course.”

The rushing only seemed to get louder. He knew what was coming, somehow he knew it for certain, and he felt with equal certainty that he absolutely _had_ to stop it.

Oblivious to Leon’s mounting panic, Valbar went on, steady and unstoppable as always. “Well, I was thinking about it, these last few days, and…I think I might—”

“Valbar, wait—” Leon choked out.

“—have the same feelings for you, after all.”

He had anticipated it, but he still had not been prepared. Valbar’s words, soft and uncertain on a voice that was usually so assured, struck him with a blow that Leon thought might prove more fatal than the arrow wound in his side.

“You… _think,”_ he managed to say, miraculously, as he was certain his heart had stopped.

Valbar blinked. “I…well, seeing you like this…”

“Just because you were afraid of losing me doesn’t mean your feelings are the same as mine,” Leon snapped. His voice was cold, too harsh even to his own ears, but he couldn’t seem to control it. He knew Valbar would never lie to him, but he couldn’t shake the sense that this had to be some kind of joke, not on Valbar’s part, perhaps, but a cosmic prank inflicted on him by gods who were apparently still not satisfied with the suffering he had endured up to this point.

To his credit, Valbar didn’t flinch. “You don’t believe me?”

Leon tried not to hear the quiet hurt in those words. “You said I almost died. You’re not…you’re not thinking about this clearly.” His pulse felt frantic, and his new injury was aching all of the sudden. “Valbar, I—”

He broke off. He had no idea what he meant to say. His feelings for Valbar had become a constant over the past few years, as certain as the rising of the sun. They were bittersweet, but comfortable, warm despite their wistful edge. A neat, sealed parcel in his heart, a simple part of him and nothing more.

Valbar’s words threatened to send that careful internal balance teetering out of control. They threatened to tear open Leon’s feelings, leaving them raw, bleeding, _vulnerable._ Leon had seen terrors conjured from nothing, seen a god crash to earth and rip open the ground with its roar, but none of those things had scared him as much as this.

Valbar was talking again, almost rambling, as if to fill the silence. “Amalia…she would have loved you, y’know? Your sense of humor—it’s just like hers. You would have gotten along so well, it’s almost scary…” He smiled slightly. “Well, it scared _me,_ at least, so I kept you at a distance. But…it scares me more, to think of what could happen to you if I’m not there to protect you.”

This, at least, pulled Leon from his daze. “I’m hardly some blushing maiden—”

“Neither was _she,”_ Valbar interrupted with a sudden scowl. “She could handle an axe as well as I could. But that didn’t stop Barth. She died anyway, they all did, and I wasn’t there to stop it.”

Sobered, Leon shut his mouth, giving the dead the respect they deserved. They passed a moment in silence, Valbar fidgeting, Leon chewing on his lip.

“I’m sorry, old friend,” he said finally, and the words seemed to tear at his throat as he spoke them, even though he knew there was nothing else he could say, “I’m just…I’m not sure I can believe you.”

Valbar looked down. “That…that’s fair. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize,” Leon cut him off. “I could never resent you.”

Valbar drew a deep breath and let it out again, before clapping his hands on his knees and looking up to meet Leon’s eyes.

“So,” he said, and the enthusiasm in his voice was only a little forced, “the textile business, eh? You’ll be getting yourself a ship, then?”

Leon blinked. “I…yes, I imagine so.” He didn’t like sea travel, but there was an undeniable demand for foreign designs in the latest fashions.

“Then take me with you,” Valbar insisted. “I’ll stay with the knights for as long as it takes for you to heal up, and for you to find a ship and crew. But when you’re ready…every ship needs defenses, even if the seas are safer now. So take me with you. Please.”

Leon blinked, then let out a short laugh, surprising even himself. “You think you even need to ask, old friend?”

~ ~ ~

For the next month, Leon was busy with preparations. While he was under strict orders to rest for at least another week, he spent his time in his luxurious castle room drawing up budgets, making lists, drafting letters to guild masters, and poring over sea charts provided to him by an obliging royal steward. The rest of his time was spent having tea with various acquaintances who had heard news of his injury and came to wish him well.

“A textile merchant?” Celica repeated, when he told her of his decision. “Oh, but that’s perfect, Leon. You’ll stay in the castle town, won’t you? I would love to be your best customer.”

“I’ll set up a shop here, yes,” Leon promised. “And I would be honored to continue to serve you and His Majesty to the best of my abilities, of course.” He gave a small bow in his seat, and Celica giggled.

As sure as he was of his plans, Leon was secretly relieved to find them so well-received. Only his former subordinate, the new captain of the bow knights, seemed at all unhappy with the development—in fact, Leon thought he saw tears in the younger man’s eyes when he broke the news, and he could not deny that he was a little flattered by it. Leon offered what reassurances he could—and pointed out that he would still be nearby, should the knights ever need some mentoring from a veteran of the war—but the new captain was still a little sniffly when he left.

Valbar, he supposed, was occupied with his own preparations, because Leon did not see much of him during that month, even after he was given permission from the healers to be up and about again. They met up at the docks one day in the middle of Pegastym to tour available vessels for hire, but otherwise Leon finalized his plans on his own. It was strange, he reflected, that it had probably been years since he had seen his friend so infrequently.

Not that a lack of Valbar’s company was anything he had to worry about with their voyage approaching. In fact, a part of him was glad for the temporary distance—it had allowed him to clear his head, to mend the dangerous fraying edges of his feelings. Valbar, he thought, must have done similarly; during their afternoon together on the quays, Valbar had seemed his usual boisterous and cheerful self, and he had acted as though nothing between them had changed. This all seemed to indicate that Leon had been right all along—Valbar’s confession had been born of nothing more than fear, and he had been right to refuse it instead of endangering his most precious friendship.

The voyage had been underway for three days before Leon realized that he had been mistaken.

Valbar was flirting with him.

At first, Leon had not been certain. He knew all too well that Valbar could be extremely oblivious to the effect he had on people—Leon had not been the only one in their army camp sending wistful sighs in his direction. On the ship, things were no different—sailors male and female alike were immediately charmed by his looks and boisterous friendliness, as well as his insistence that they put him to work. Determined, he claimed, not to be dead weight on a voyage that likely wouldn’t need too much defending, he was on deck most of the day, hoisting rigging and toting barrels down to the hold.

Leon, who could excuse himself from any ship duties both because of his injury and the fact that he was sponsoring the voyage, spent his days abovedeck as well, hoping the sunshine and breeze would ward off his initial seasickness as they left the coast of Valentia behind. There was plenty to watch on the ship, too, and amid the constant bustle of sailors, he often let his eyes follow Valbar around on his various tasks. He was nice to watch—with his armor tucked away below his berth, he was clad only in a loose linen shirt rolled up to his elbows over tan breeches and leather boots, so it was easy to appreciate the strength in his figure as he roamed to and fro across the deck wherever the sailors needed some extra muscle, whistling as he went. Leon appreciated the view, unobscured by bulky plates of metal for a change, and there would have been nothing out of the ordinary in that, except for the fact that, more often than not, he caught Valbar already watching _him._

He had grown used to his friend’s obliviousness over the many years of their acquaintance. While it had once pained him, it was now just another stitch in the neat hem sewn around his feelings. Leon pined, while Valbar chuckled at his compliments and returned his affections wholeheartedly—and platonically. That dynamic had become comfortable, even if it still made Leon’s heart ache.

Now, something had changed. Now, Valbar caught Leon’s eye, and then he smirked— _smirked!—_ as he hefted a crate with one arm. His bicep bulged. And yes, Leon was watching, but _that wasn’t the point._

Leon refused to be caught up in…whatever this was. Valbar’s lingering feelings for his wife manifesting in some temporary confusion, perhaps, but not something _real._ But as steadfast as he had been prepared to be, he wasn’t sure he could trust himself around Valbar if his friend insisted on… _whatever_ this was, this strange peacocking flirtatiousness that Leon was entirely unused to seeing from him _._

Leon was not some blushing maiden. He had _seen_ blushing maidens (and blushing men) subject to Valbar’s accidental charm. He had _been_ one such man, once, his eyes following Valbar across a crowded camp, entirely captivated by his sunny smile and booming laugh. When Valbar was oblivious, he was…cute, insofar as a six-foot-tall wall of brawn who could run clean through several brigands with one stab of a lance could be _cute_. When he wielded his looks with intention, he was _deadly._

And it wasn’t just the showing off. Leon might have felt more capable of maintaining his sanity if all he had to do was look away when Valbar noticed his attention. The _looks_ he could have written off, perhaps, but there were _moments_ that were much more difficult to ignore. Technically, little had changed—Leon was used to Valbar clapping him on the back, throwing his arms around him and Kamui after a fight, and sometimes even scooping him up bodily if he’d had one too many ales at a celebration with the knights. After the first time _that_ happened, which had sent his heart racing just _thinking_ about it in the days afterward, Leon had taught himself not to make anything of it.

But now, he could feel the intention in those touches. A friendly pat on the shoulder lingered a moment longer than it needed to, Valbar’s fingers trailing along his back as he lifted his hand. It seemed as though Valbar was looking for excuses to touch him—handing him a utensil during a meal and letting their fingers brush, or grasping his arm as they passed in a narrow corridor.

All of this conspired to tug loose the threads binding Leon’s heart, leaving him fumbling with everything he had sewn neatly inside. He found himself _blushing_ around Valbar again—something he was certain he hadn’t done in years—tripping over his words, _dreaming_ about him. He felt like he was falling in love again, but with nothing to keep his heart in check this time. It was dizzying, _terrifying,_ and they had only been on this ship a few days.

“Your hair gets lighter in the sun,” Valbar observed one afternoon, catching a strand of it between two fingers as they stood side-by-side by the rail of the ship. “I never noticed before. It’s pretty.”

“Valbar,” Leon said firmly, keeping his gaze fixed on the sea—although _not_ tugging his hair from Valbar’s grasp. “You cannot keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

Anyone who didn’t know him might have taken his tone for genuine ignorance. Leon knew better.

“You _know_ what.”

“As far as I can remember, I’ve never complimented your hair before.”

Leon fixed him with a glare, and Valbar finally dropped the act, releasing the lavender strands with a sigh.

“Leon,” he said gravely, “I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”

Leon couldn’t answer, as he was too occupied with trying to suppress the rush of emotions that the simple, sincere phrase had elicited. He turned his eyes back to the horizon, hoping the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes could be blamed on the wind. Beside him, Valbar leaned back against the railing.

“In the army, and during the war…it was like there wasn’t space for it in my head, you know? And of course, Amalia was always in my heart—and she still is, but…but now, something is different. I wish I could say I remember feeling this way when I met her, and maybe that would convince you, but it’s not the same. I’m older now, for one. I’m different, you’re different. But I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The words rushed like fire through Leon’s veins, but he refused to turn.

“Perhaps,” he conceded, “but see how you feel back on land when I’m no longer the only well-groomed individual around.”

Valbar huffed out an exasperated chuckle. “You know that’s not—”

“It’s not just _you,_ you know,” Leon interrupted.

Valbar’s expression sobered. “Hm?”

“The last time…the last time I _had_ someone, he…well, you know what happened. You picked up the pieces.” Leon paused. He could still remember it like it was yesterday—Valbar, pulling him away from Garrett’s broken body, all but shoving him into the center of a battalion where he would be insulated from the fighting that still raged around them. Even then, he had still been badly injured—avoidable wounds, due only to his own carelessness. Valbar had come to his tent afterwards to check on him. They hadn’t even really known each other at the time, and Leon remembered being surprised that anyone would bother, especially since he knew he should have, by all rights, been nothing but a corpse on the darkening battlefield, dead alongside his lover.

It was a while before they were anything like friends, but when Leon recovered, Valbar always made a point to call out to him when they passed each other in the camp, offering the occasional earnest kind word. For months, those encounters were all that kept Leon from stepping into the path of an enemy lance.

Leon’s memories of that time were blurry—he didn’t know exactly how long he had spent simply going through the motions of a life. In some ways, being a soldier made that easy—he always had orders to follow, so it hardly mattered that he could scarcely muster a will of his own. Slowly, though, the numbness clutching his heart started to thaw. Overall, it happened gradually, but there was one evening when Leon found himself snapping to awareness as he fletched some arrows, struck by the sudden realization that he had never properly thanked Valbar for saving his life. He had all but dropped everything to do just that.

Valbar’s response was to slap him on the back with a “no problem, pal,” offer him a spot by the fire and a tankard of ale, and to go on talking about his wife. Leon realized the hopelessness of his situation almost as soon as he realized that he was in love.

But he had already decided that he was willing to follow this man wherever he went, so when Valbar left the army to pursue the pirates who had murdered his family, Leon did just that.

Dragging his thoughts from the past, Leon glanced to his friend, only to find himself unable to hold Valbar’s gaze. He fixed his eyes back on the darkening sea.

“Of course, of _course,_ I would be devastated if anything were to happen to you,” he went on, hearing his voice break. “But maybe…maybe if I don’t…if _we_ don’t…” He let out a breath. “There’s not going to be someone else to save me.”

He had always considered it a strength of his, his tendency to love quickly, sincerely, and deeply—the world _was_ full of incredible, loveable people, and if reminding himself of that fact could motivate him in the bloody midst of battle, then it _had_ to be a strength. His love for Valbar, however, was a two-edged sword, with one edge wicked-sharp and poisoned, and he had never truly figured out how to handle it. 

They had never been his strong suit, swords. He much preferred arrows, directed at a clear target, shot straight and true—and, most importantly, from a distance. 

Valbar was silent for a long minute.

“I’m sorry, Leon. I didn’t think.”

“No, you—” Leon broke off with a sigh, hanging his head. “It’s alright.”

“We both have our share of broken, huh,” Valbar added. He leaned his elbows on the railing and gazed out at the sea, leaving a space between them. A large part of Leon wanted to move into that space, lean his head on Valbar’s shoulder, take shelter in the warmth of him, but he resisted, grasping the wooden rail with both hands until his knuckles went pale.

“Yes,” Leon agreed, in a voice barely louder than a whisper. He didn’t like to be reminded of just _how_ broken he still was, all these years later.

“But it’s what brought us together,” Valbar mused. “And what brought us to Celica. Fate works in strange ways like that.”

Leon pursed his lips. _“Fate_ is for people like Celica and the Saint-King. The rest of us have to make do with luck.”

_And I’ve never had much of it._

Valbar eyed him sideways. “You’re not usually this cynical.”

He wasn’t wrong. Leon sighed. “Valbar, I…”

But Valbar interrupted him with a pat on the shoulder, not one of the lingering touches that had been driving Leon to distraction for the last few days, just a friendly pressure. “It’s alright, old friend,” he said. “I understand, I really do.”

He left Leon by the railing, and Leon shivered as a sudden breeze rolled off the ocean. Folding his arms against the chill, he clutched his shoulder where Valbar’s hand had been, and if any of the sailors on deck noticed the tears that slipped down his cheeks, they kindly pretended they hadn’t.

~ ~ ~

They were a week into the journey when the men up in the rigging raised the alarm that a ship flying no country’s flags had been spotted off the starboard side.

A chilly morning had drawn a bank of mist around the ship, and by the time they spotted the unknown vessel, it was too late to run. They made a feeble attempt anyway, turning the sails to catch what little wind they could—but the other ship quickly overtook them, and by the time they could see the figures on the other deck, Valbar had donned his armor and stood waiting grimly by the rail with his lance alongside the rest of the crew, some armed with their own swords, others with whatever weapons they could find among their tools.

Leon, for his part, ignored the urging of the captain to take shelter belowdeck, and found a perch on the quarterdeck instead, bow in hand and a quiver slung over his shoulder. Maybe he wasn’t a soldier anymore, but nothing could erase his years of training and fighting, and Valbar’s grudge against pirates had rubbed off on him a bit. The Brotherhood’s best bow knight would _not_ sit twiddling his thumbs in his cabin while his friends fought on his behalf.

If the pirates were expecting this particular merchant ship to just roll over and give up, they had a surprise coming.

When the first attackers began to swing their way across the gap between the ships, Valbar swept two of them off into the roiling water before either could even catch their footing. Leon dispatched a third before the pirates managed to anchor some boards across the gap, and then the fight _really_ began.

Pirates spilled across the planks, clashing with the crew on the starboard side of the ship. Even with their motley collection of weapons, the crew was doing an admirable job of holding back the attackers—and whenever one slipped through, Leon notched an arrow, drew back his bow (ignoring the pinch of pain in his ribs)—and felled them before they got too far.

One pirate, making the judicious decision to duck under Valbar’s lance and dart past him, made it a little further than the rest. _Speedy bastard._ Leon closed one eye and loosed another arrow—the swordsman staggered and collapsed.

Leon smirked, twirling his next arrow in his fingers. _Still got it._

His gloating was interrupted when a flash of silver caught his eye. Valbar was engaged with two swordsmen—not very skilled, by the looks of it, but occupying his attention nonetheless—and another pirate was swinging in from the ship directly towards him, axe raised.

In a heartbeat, Leon notched an arrow and drew back his bow—and gasped aloud as a shooting pain lanced through his ribs. His fingers fumbled with the bowstring, the arrow curved high, high upwards, arcing uselessly into the rigging, and Leon watched in horror as the axe rushed towards Valbar’s back with deadly certainty.

He couldn’t even cry out—the pain in his chest had pressed all the air from his lungs. All he could do was watch as Valbar’s armor crumpled like paper beneath the axe’s blade, and his dearest friend fell to the deck with a heavy thud.

His mind went blank. Scrambling for his quiver, he loosed three arrows in quick succession, his rage overpowering the screaming complaints of his ribs. The swordsmen fell, but he only struck a glancing blow to the pirate with the axe—but it was enough. Another crewmember finished him off.

And then it was over.

The deck went eerily quiet for a few long seconds, the knock of the waves against the hull and the creak of the rigging almost deafening in the lull after the battle. With every heaving breath he drew, Leon’s chest pulsed with pain. Letting his bow fall from his hand, he pulled himself to his feet and nearly tripped down the steps to the main deck. His vision was narrowed to that smashed armor, and the blood welling up beneath it—

_Not **now,** old friend. Not like **this.**_

There were no healers on the ship. It was a decision he had made consciously—the seas were safer now, there would be no need for a healer or priest. The vulneraries in the hold would do.

He deftly unstrapped Valbar’s mangled armor plating and tossed it aside, despair washing over him anew as he saw the wound for the first time. _No healers._

Blood ran freely over his hands as he pressed them to the wound. Valbar’s shirt was already caked in crimson. _Bandages. Water._

“Sir,” said a voice to his right, and Leon flinched. Turning, he got the sense that the sailor beside him had been trying to speak to him for quite some time now. “Let me.”

Leon allowed himself to be pulled away. A few more sailors rushed to Valbar’s side, one with a bucket of clean water from the hold, another with a roll of bandages. As they pulled Valbar’s shirt out of the way, Leon swayed slightly at the sight of the bloodied flesh. Another sailor caught him by the arm, and Leon dragged his eyes to his friend’s face, instead.

He was pale, much too pale. Someone had removed his helmet, and his hair was plastered to his scalp with sweat. Tugging his arm from the sailor’s steadying hand, Leon knelt on the deck beside Valbar’s head, brushing the hair back from his forehead and assuring himself that Valbar was, in fact, still breathing.

“Sir.” One of the sailors dressing the wound was looking at him. “We’re going to bring him below deck now.”

Leon nodded mutely, moving aside to give a few other sailors the space to lift Valbar onto a makeshift stretcher.

“It looks worse than it is,” said one sailor, after Valbar had been installed in a bunk in his cabin. With his vision clearing a little, Leon was able to finally recognize this crewman as Lars, a tall and tanned young man who could usually be found up in the rigging. The others had already returned to the deck to deal with the aftermath of the battle. “Let the vulnerary do its work and he shouldn’t need stitching up.”

Leon thanked him—although he could barely recognize his own voice when he spoke—and sank into a chair beside the bunk, watching Valbar’s chest rise and fall under the bandages wrapped around his torso.

How many short weeks ago had they been in this exact position, but reversed?

Valbar’s arm was resting beside him, and Leon clasped his hand in both of his own, lifting Valbar’s forearm to press his forehead to their joined fingers. He wondered how Valbar had felt, holding vigil by Leon’s bedside, and a pang of guilt joined the ache in his ribs. He had been so harsh to Valbar that day, and since then, he had done nothing but refuse the one thing he wanted more than anything else in life, all because—

Valbar’s fingers twitched, and before Leon could lift his head, Valbar had tugged his hand free and was catching the tear that had welled up in the corner of Leon’s eye.

“What’s this?” Valbar rumbled as Leon looked up to see him opening his eyes. “Save the tears for my actual deathbed. I’ve taken worse than this, you know.”

“Valbar…”

Valbar made an attempt to sit up, then grunted in pain and settled back to the pillows, settling for a strained smile instead. “It’ll take more than a filthy pirate to take _me_ down, you know that.” He met Leon’s eyes. “Thanks for having my back out there. Injury or no, you’re still good.”

Leon scowled and looked down. “Not good enough. The one who hit you. I missed.”

Valbar shrugged, then winced. “Everyone misses sometimes.”

 _“I_ don’t,” Leon shot back. “Not where you’re concerned.”

Valbar took Leon’s hand again, this time placing it over his heart. His pulse beat strong and steady under Leon’s palm. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be up and about tomorrow, just wait.”

Leon gazed at their hands, feeling Valbar’s heartbeat resonate in his bones. “Valbar,” he said slowly. “I have to apologize.”

“For not hitting that guy? I already said—”

“No, not that.” He closed his eyes, trying to focus on Valbar’s even heartbeat instead of his own frantically racing one. “I…I was a fool for thinking I could protect my heart by simply refusing you.”

“Leon.” Valbar squeezed Leon’s hand, and Leon opened his eyes to find his friend watching him, his expression serious. “You’re no fool. Even if you don’t believe in my feelings, you have to believe that I know what that hurt is like.”

Leon looked down, unable to hold his gaze. “And…about your feelings…”

Valbar smiled. “They’re not going anywhere, either.”

It was hardly the most romantic declaration, but it was very _Valbar,_ straightforward and certain. Leon’s heart fluttered, and for once, he didn’t try to catch himself, didn’t try to dampen the warmth overflowing in his chest as it tugged loose all the seams binding his own feelings close.

“But, I’ll wait, if you need me to,” Valbar added. “Honestly, it’s only fair.”

“Hm?”

Valbar grimaced. “I kept you waiting for so long. Can’t’ve been easy loving someone as clueless as I am.”

Leon blinked, then a smirk tugged at his lips. “Waiting won’t be necessary,” he said. “But you’re not wrong. I think a Revenant might have caught on faster than you did.”

“Ha! There’s the Leon I know!” Valbar chuckled again, even though the motion made his expression tighten in discomfort as he jostled his wound. “I feel like I haven’t seen you smile in weeks. Here we are, on your first voyage as a merchant, and I was starting to think I’d ruined it with my big mouth.”

“Well, it’s still another week to Archanea,” Leon pointed out, his smile widening. “You have plenty of time to make it up to me.”

“Hmm, that’s true,” Valbar hummed, and when he caught Leon’s gaze, there was a glint in his eyes that Leon recognized from those moments Valbar had caught him watching up on deck. “Any ideas where I should start?”

The flush Leon felt rising to his cheeks surprised him—he still wasn’t _used_ to this version of Valbar. “You should _start_ by resting,” Leon replied, trying with limited success to sound as stern as the healers who had tended to him after his own injury. “After that…we’ll talk.”

~ ~ ~

Valbar’s estimations for his recovery had been a little optimistic; it was two days before he was back on his feet. Despite Valbar’s protests, Leon had spent most of that time in the cabin with him, so they both breathed in deep lungfuls of sea air when they re-emerged on deck on the second day. Valbar rolled his shoulders and stretched indulgently, and Leon was relieved to see that he didn’t seem to be in any pain as he did so. It had been a mild injury after all, especially compared to his own wound, which still ached on and off for days after the clash with the pirates had strained it.

The crew was glad to see Valbar up and about again, and they greeted him with belated gratitude as he and Leon crossed the deck. In large part due to Valbar’s efforts, they had suffered no losses and only a few injuries in the attack, and Leon had a feeling that his recovery would be used as an excuse for a celebration later that night. For now, though, they were left to their own devices once they reached a secluded spot near the stern, so they stood by the rail and watched the sun sink towards the sea.

With Valbar stuck in his cabin, there had been little to do over the past two days but talk, so they were both quiet now, staring out at the horizon and imagining the shores of Valentia in the distance. The breeze whipped Leon’s hair back and forth, so he took the leather thong that he kept around his wrist and used it tie the strands back. When he looked up again, Valbar was watching him, a fond smile playing on his lips.

“See something you like?” Leon quipped, reflexively, and Valbar let out a quiet laugh.

“Yeah, I think I do.”

Reaching out to tuck the stray pieces of Leon’s bangs behind his ear, Valbar leaned closer before pausing and meeting Leon’s eyes. His free hand had found Leon’s resting on the rail of the ship, and he laced their fingers together.

“Leon,” he said, his voice low and rumbling. “I, er…”

They had talked a lot over the past two days, but they had done little _more_ than talk. And as convinced as Leon was that Valbar’s feelings did indeed mirror his own, there was a tiny, traitorous part of him that still feared that Valbar might realize, abruptly and at the worst possible moment, that what he wanted from Leon was nothing more than friendship after all. Even after Valbar had taken his hand one night as Leon was about to retire to his own bunk and pressed his lips to Leon’s knuckles, the doubts had persisted, keeping him awake late into the night while Valbar snored on the other side of the cabin.

 _Did you forget how this works?_ he wanted to tease, but his nerves were holding his voice hostage. His fingers would have been trembling if they hadn’t been linked with Valbar’s.

Then Valbar dropped his hand away from Leon’s face, and Leon barely had a chance to inhale before Valbar was pulling him into a crushing hug. 

“Sorry,” Valbar said, muffled into Leon’s hair. “Gimme a minute. I’m still just so glad you’re alive.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” Leon asked, slowly bringing his hands up to rest against Valbar’s back, letting himself relax into the embrace.

“This was just a scratch compared to what happened to you,” Valbar said, his grip only getting tighter. “Really, Leon, I—”

Leon made a small sound of protest as his ribs objected to Valbar’s constricting hold, and Valbar immediately slackened his arms, leaning back with a look of alarm.

“Sorry! Are you—”

Leon waved a hand, wheezing just a little. “I’m fine.” He rubbed one hand over his scar, leaning against Valbar’s shoulder. “You know…I really did think I _would_ die like that, in the middle of battle. Always have.”

Valbar eyed him sideways. “Disappointed?”

“Ha. Surprisingly…no, not at all. The whole idea was a lot more glamourous when I thought no one would really miss me.” He paused, frowning a little. “Although I’ll admit I’m still not too thrilled about the thought of getting _old.”_

Valbar huffed a quiet laugh. “…hey, Leon.”

Leon glanced up. “What? Are you going to tell me you’re still going to love me when I’m all wrinkly?”

“Well, that too, but if you’d stop wisecracking for a second, I’d rather tell you I love you right now.”

It wasn’t fair, really, that he had built up a whole reputation for being relatively self-assured and unflappable, and one man could demolish the entire façade with a single blow—although if any man could, of course it would be Valbar. He wondered if he would get used to it, but a part of him hoped he wouldn’t.

“Truly, Leon. Now _and_ when you’re all wrinkly,” Valbar went on, filling the silence. He caught Leon’s chin with one finger. “I love you.”

Leon gave up on the effort to fight back his blush. “Well, you’ve heard it a thousand times, but…I love you, too.”

Valbar’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “And I hope to hear it a thousand more.”

Leon didn’t have any response to that but to lean up to kiss him.

For something he had considered to be out of his reach for so many years, it was surprisingly easy to bring their lips together. Valbar met him halfway, wrapping his arms around Leon’s back and pulling him close again—albeit more gently this time—and Leon nestled against him, finally allowing all his reservations, all his fears and doubts and years of wistful longing, to be banished by the warmth of Valbar’s lips on his, tearing out the final stitches that had bound his heart for so long and remaking it into something stronger, brighter.

 _We both have our share of broken,_ Valbar had said, and that, Leon knew, would never change. Years from now, he might still find himself jolting out of sleep with Garrett’s pale, empty face looming before him—and Valbar would probably always get a little quiet whenever they happened upon a cozy seaside village, as the burned skeletons of the buildings he had called home rose up in his eyes like ghosts. If it _was_ fate, it was a morbid universe that would draw two people together in such a way—although given what Leon knew of the gods, he supposed he couldn’t be too surprised.

Not that it mattered; whether it was luck, destiny, a belated gift from Mila for services rendered, Leon wasn’t interested in offering gratitude. Valentia was a land freed from the influences of the gods, after all, and he had never been more eager to weave his own path forward.

He pressed his forehead to Valbar’s, feeling Valbar’s soft laughter resonate in his own chest, and he thought about the future and smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> I talk about fire emblem on twitter sometimes @u_andcloud


End file.
